It was a gray morning on Claw Isle, the sea mist curling like silk through the crimson crab banners that flapped along the battlements. Lord Artys Celtigar sat at his desk, a golden cup of spiced wine in hand, reviewing the ledgers of his ships when his daughter swept in, a shimmer of pearl-white silk against the gloom.

“The winds from Dragonstone were fair yesterday,” she said, her tone light but edged with impatience. “Surely the royal fleet should be in sight by now, Father. You did send the finest wines to greet them, I trust?”

Lord Artys grunted, barely looking up from his papers.

Vaella paced to the window, her fingers brushing the cool stone. “Princess Rhaella always said she longed to see Claw Isle again. And perhaps…” her voice softened, a smile playing on her lips “her brothers might enjoy it too.”

Before her father could reply, the doors burst open and a herald entered, breathless from the climb. “My lord... my lady, the royal ships have arrived!”

Vaella turned, her face brightening instantly. “At last,” she murmured, straightening her gown with deliberate grace. “I'll make sure they are received then.”